


Oil Stained

by woundmetender



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adult Themes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mentions of Violence, Mutual Pining, No Apocalypse, Past Abuse, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26402599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woundmetender/pseuds/woundmetender
Summary: Working as a mechanic, Daryl Dixon comes across obstacles that require him to hire an extra hand to help around his shop. However, he wasn't expecting Connie King, a high school teacher/writer, to come into his life alongside a trouble teenager.
Relationships: Connie & Daryl Dixon, Connie/Daryl Dixon, Enid/Carl Grimes, Henry/Lydia (Walking Dead: Kingdom)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	1. Help Wanted

Lifting his clipboard, his thumb pressed into the front page, a grimy fingerprint left behind on top of someone's full alias previously printed crisply on the now stained sheet of paper.

_Sorry, Hank Preston. . . Or does that say Frank? Ah, it's all fucked now._

Tired cerulean scanned through the short list of names through hooded eyes to try and commemorate for the next few hours of interviews, but it didn't look as if he'd singe them into his brain any time soon. So far no one impressed him enough to tie names to faces anyhow. As he dropped his clipboard, his attention went across the old and young individuals sitting (and standing because the waiting area contained a maximum of three chairs). Curious orbs stopped on an adolescent's face, age not striking him odd because of the other adolescents in the area, but because _she_ was the sole female in the room. Somehow, he sensed no discomfort despite being surrounded by others who obviously felt she didn't belong there. There seemed to be more of a disconnect with the males in the vicinity.

Whether it was because he wanted the stares to end or simply because her name was the only one he bothered to remember (an anomaly on his list for several reasons: short and feminine) he tapped his clipboard onto the nearby counter. He raised it into the air and gestured it towards himself as he started his gait towards his office.

"Lydia Dean, you're up," he muttered as he stepped into the small space. He rounded his desk, stacks of papers sitting atop its surface as he sank into his worn out rolling chair. A hand came up to scratch his chin, the other reaching for a manila folder sitting near one of the columns.

Lydia stood at the door at first, timorous in front of the wood of it as she stared at Daryl's office in wonder. Usually he sensed a bit of disgust or disappointment when clients came in, but she seemed to have stumbled upon candyland for the way she glanced about with wide eyes. He looked at her with disbelief, a gesture of his head occurring for her to sit down when she finally bothered to look back at him. She mouthed 'sorry' as she sank into the wooden seat. It was a good thing her long hair sat in front of her shoulders because the seat's screws usually caught hair stands and yanked them from the perpetrators' scalps.

"Says here that you're still in high school," he said, slight contempt laced in his tone that she quickly caught onto. His eyes went from the application to her and she nodded her head slowly, hands folded neatly in her lap.

"Yep… but I can do anything after 3:30. Senior year is easy anyway. I wouldn't fall behind on my studies… I'm even willing to work weekends," she responded in an attempt to reassure him, perhaps a little too eagerly.

Feigned enthusiasm generally irritated him to no ends, but she seemed genuine in her willingness to be there. It of course brought up another question in his mind, leaning back into his chair as he tried to decipher the reason before asking. Then again, his mouth sometimes worked quicker than his thoughts.

"Why do you wanna' work here? It's not exactly the greatest hangout spot for a kid."

His job as a mechanic hardly sparked creativity. The position required organizational skills and computer work he didn't want to be bothered with. He kept losing paperwork with how haphazardly he ran things so the available assistance needed to transfer everything to a computer system. His focus remained on rectifying the damage of the cars brought in and not anything else (which would explain how far behind he became on keeping records) so it's not like this entire ordeal looked glamorous in the eyes of a teenager. Whomever got stuck with the job had to sift through the mess he created before they could coast at the front desk and speak to customers.

Obviously, people weren't his strong suit either.

"My dad and I used to work on cars a lot when I was younger. I'm no professional, but I can get myself out of situations others can't. Thought _this_ made the most sense… I need to get out of the house anyway and cheerleading isn't really my thing." She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, lips tucked together and pulled into her mouth. Nerves got the better of her facial expression and Daryl deciphered it easily.

"You don't need a whole lot of car experience for this job," he stated in an attempt to wave it off. He wasn't sure why, but he felt apprehension towards the idea of selecting her for this. But like a shark at the first whiff of blood, she leaned forward and continued.

"But I have it and the application said that it would help," she said in defense. It's like she could hear his thoughts of his impending doubt.

"... You know how to do an oil change? Change the spark plugs?" In truth, he sought out someone to help because his business started going down due to the lack of upgrading. If she held common knowledge under her belt, she could do more than sit behind a computer. While he preferred working alone, times changed far too often for him to run things solo.

"Yes, Mr. Dixon."

He paused for a moment, far more persuaded than before as he tried to look past her gender. He didn't mean for his thoughts to be as biased, but her initiative made him think twice. Everyone else who passed through so far only wanted to be there for a paycheck and while that's as honorable a reason as any, Lydia fought against his restraints and uncertainty.

"You know your way around a computer?"

"Yeah, it's all we use at school now. Stuff's second nature." And while that did sound a bit sad in hindsight, it was better than his lack of technology use.

He wasn't a caveman, a smartphone in his possession while a laptop sat at home, but his knowledge didn't go beyond news sites and random searches off google. He dropped his gaze from her to the folder in his lap to examine her application further. Her handwriting scrawled messily on the lines, but the content intrigued him far more than aesthetic.

"Your dad cool if you have to stay late on weekends? Ain't sayin' you're gettin' anythin', but if I close up late, would that be a problem?" He had the tendency of sticking around later, but he foresaw he'd buckle and tell anyone at his side to scram for the day anyway. This was a precaution necessary in case he needed an extra hand. He wasn't about to interfere with her school work either regardless if he wasn't the brightest pupil when he went all those years ago.

"Super cool with it! It was actually his idea that I apply here. He's a real motorhead and… he's been really busy." Her face transitioned from jovial to harboring a sadness in her eyes. The dichotomy of it created a twinge in his chest, but he wasn't about to delve into her personal life. This was about his shop staying afloat and that's it, her issues with her father being just that: hers and only _hers._

"Alright. What about these references? This one says _text and/or email only._ " It surely put a damper on things. Actually calling someone to confirm they were real and a different person within a real profession as they held real credentials counted as a real reference. Or at least that was what he was thinking until she spoke her next words:

"Oh, she's my teacher from Junior year. She's deaf, but I don't think anyone has a way of words like her. She can confirm how hardworking and persistent I am."

"Listed someone to talk you up?"

"Isn't that what references are?"

The amusement in her tone coupled with a cheeky grin on her behalf had one of his own break out, but rather faintly. It's one thing the previous interviewees failed to do: get him to crack a smile. Was it really an accomplishment, though? She took it as one with how her grin grew wider.

"Gonna' be this much of a smart ass if you get the job?"

"I'll still be one if I don't."

He blew out a breath that he attempted to drench in annoyance, but her sense of humor casted an endearing aura inside of his office. He gestured towards the door behind them with a glance of his shifting eyes.

"Get outta' here. I'll let you know," he said, his arms crossing against his expansive chest. He watched as she nodded her head again and stood from the chair to head for the door.

As she grabbed the doorknob, she paused and turned her head and settled her gaze on him, eye contact established for the next few moments. He saw the cogs turning in her brain from where he sat, emotions written on her facial expressions, but not for a lack of control. There seemed to be enough confidence to drop a mask she quite possibly wore a majority of the time. The fact did not bring about a qualm between them, the opposite initiating as if they knew one another longer than ten minutes.

"Mr. Dixon… I really want this job. I know there's probably some guys out there with more experience or whatever, but I wanna be able to work with cars just like my dad and this seems like a step in the right direction. You wouldn't just be giving me an opportunity, but also a headstart in what I wanna do with my life… no pressure."

He took all of that in as she brought the door open, his thoughts currently running at a mile a second as he reconsidered how he felt about someone her age working alongside him. She stabbed out the uncertainty easily and the potential he saw through a small conversation proved how she could fit there and flourish.

"Lydia," he said, earning her attention as she stepped halfway out the office.

"M'name's Daryl."

* * *

God, avoiding the writing of emails is one of the reasons he put up a 'help wanted' sign up in his window in the first place. He ran a tired hand down his face as he sat in front of his laptop, Connie King's email address being reviewed in the box to ensure he spelled it right. The school's name lied in its entirety, a verification that this was a business way of contacting her. He got off the phone hours ago with another one of Lydia's old teachers, chalking it off as Lydia not knowing very many people outside of school and understandably so. After Mrs. Poudre talked his ear off about how Lydia excelled in class and mentioned her assortment of plants at home, Daryl was grateful to not have to make another call. He already set himself on choosing Lydia for the position after the trainwreck of people who came to him before and after, but he wanted validation in his decision making.

_Dear, Mrs. King:_

Wait, he didn't even know if she was married or not. Mrs. Poudre made it certain that she explained her husband worked on cars in the 80s and now worked in a car dealership, so no mystery lied there. He deleted the line, opting to just go by the name Lydia gave him. He always over thought things like this. He didn't need to know the woman to not want his line of business to look shoddier than it already did on the outside. He both did not give a damn while simultaneously giving all the damns as any red blooded human.

_Dear, Connie King:_

_My name is Daryl Dixon and I own Fixed Mileage off of Crescent drive, and I am writing to ask about Lydia Dean._

_Lydia applied for a job at my shop and listed you as a reference, so I wanted to ask about her work ethic and skills I should know about._

He read over what he wrote a couple of times, a grunt surpassing his lips when he went back to the tab googling how to write himself a business letter. He felt rather foolish typing his name at the bottom with a 'thank you' adding onto it, so he hit send to not dwell on it any further. He stood from his chair and walked to the small kitchen to pour himself a cup of water. His main focus was getting someone to get to work at his shop and yet that held a shit ton of complications he didn't think would come. He was finally close to getting some help while jumping through the loops of his weaknesses, attempting to prove those wrong that he wasn’t a simpleton by any means.

Lost inside his thoughts thick with insecurities, his head shifted upwards as his computer elicited a notification sound. He blinked slowly, turning his phone on to see the time:

_2:56 am_

Someone also had trouble sleeping apparently.

He walked over to the laptop and sat down to read the contents of the email reply. He gulped down some water, the webs of surprise cleared from his mind as he viewed the message.

_Greetings, Daryl Dixon!_

_I'm quite aware of your shop since it's always nice to be in tune with local businesses instead of bigger corporations. Lydia approached me and asked to put me down as a reference so I was expecting some form of contact._

_Lydia is by far one of the smartest individuals I've had the privilege of teaching and learning with. While she can prove that in books, I was always much more interested in her determination to achieve and prosper with odds stacked against her. At times her frustrations may be visible, but she always manages to find a solution that works for her and those around her. In truth, she's a student who I saw grow as a person because of her inability to give up._

_She'd be a great addition to your shop's staff and I believe she's a great candidate for what you're looking for._

_Sincerely,_

_Connie King_

When he finished reading, he found the email in response to be quite interesting. Growing up, Daryl never encountered a teacher who believed in someone so much as Connie seemed to believe in Lydia. Sure, he disrupted his classes often because of building aggression and uncontrollable obnoxiousness, but not one person stopped to see if he held substance under his torrid exterior. It's not like he would've allowed anyone that close, especially at his young age where his family remained in more shambles than it ever was. That period of time was rougher than others and while he encountered a myriad of hard times, something about those experiences in particular still stuck with him after so long. His long gone father passed his mind for a split second and he sighed out to himself, hitting the reply button so he could type something back quick. Connie was the final nail in the coffin and now all that was left was calling Lydia at a reasonable hour (one where she wasn’t most likely sleeping or in school) to tell her she got the job.

_Thank you, this has helped me a lot in making a decision. I'll let Lydia know soon._

He kept it short and sweet, standing up from his chair to place his cup into his sink. (That was later Daryl's problem.) Just as quickly as he got to the sink, however, the computer sounded off yet again. Was this lady gifted with super speed or what? He felt like he took ages typing out the two emails he sent her. He walked right back, laptop lifted for him to get a better look.

_Of course! I hope that means what I think it means and if it does, I look forward to meeting you._

Meeting him? What was that supposed to mean? Was she going to stop by to check up on Lydia's first real job? Swing by to judge and ridicule what she chose as a career path? Was he going to regret this by opening himself up to others he didn’t know? Would more of Lydia’s acquaintances and friends also be coming by?

He shut his laptop and let out a huff, his next destination being his bedroom to finally get some much needed rest. Tomorrow would be filled with good news and maybe some headaches depending on whether or not Lydia could come in as soon as possible. His patience went through the wringer throughout the years, now steely and wise, but time passed since the last time someone/events tested it.

Things were going to change… hopefully for the better.


	2. Penpals

Earnest displayed itself in Lydia's tone of voice, an elation propelling itself despite the content of her rather professional words. Her acceptance of the job exceeded expectations, and Daryl had half a mind to pinpoint it as endearing… almost that is. If the high pitched scream that left his right ear ringing did not initially greet him after he delivered the news, Lydia's response tackled full marks of winsome character. Despite this, Daryl's decision had yet to be met with regret. Like her teachers praised her, Lydia's positive attitude towards the work ahead inspired him with hope. The shriek in particular possibly had to do with her youth. The shop's productivity levels remained stagnant without an extra hand, so the future dazzled brilliantly.

The next day, she came into work ten minutes earlier than their agreed time of four in the afternoon, but the last thing Daryl wanted to do was reprimand her for her enthusiasm. His eyes scanned the outside, a crimson rag now stained with grease tucked into the left pocket of his navy blue coveralls. A bike of silver and stripped away pink came into view haphazardly locked up onto a bike rack falling apart from the lack of usage. Then again, it belonged to a nearby historical building. Ironically, it fit right into its background. Its position with a decaying piece of metal didn't sit right with him. But it's not like his shop resided in the most glamorous part of Georgia, either.

"Uh-uh. Bring that into the garage." He said as she entered through the glass door and its ringing bell. He pointed out towards her bike and she quickly got the idea. Without a second thought, she went back out and he made his way through the hall to access the rusted garage.

Daryl opened the place early and closed it off late, so the metal door remained high towards the ceiling already. Sunlight peeked in through the opening, a glint of it shining off the hood of the car he worked on since the AM. He diverted his attention from the car to Lydia who approached with her bike. One hand rested on the left handlebar while the other utilized the seat for leverage. Instead of riding it in, she rolled it across the road and into the open area. Her head shifted back and forth, the wonder from viewing his turned-upside-down office plastered on her features all over again. This reaction seemed more logical anyhow, being fascinated by the cars and the car workspace instead of a room filled with papers thrown every which way.

"There's not a lot of traffic out there. How's this place supposed to be seen?" She grinned at him. He was glad she didn't bother to kiss his ass, but man did he roll his eyes to the fucking clouds and then some.

"I deal with broken cars, not fully functionin'." And the lot became his when he saved enough money from his previous game of fixing vehicles without a place of his own. By Georgia's standards, the place came at a steal. If he made enough, maybe switching elsewhere for extra room and higher promotion would keep his business progressing.

But that sounded like a lot of fucking work.

"I'm just saying: location, location, location." She rolled the bike all the way to a wall he pointed at. Considering that he'd be in there most of the time and he locked up when he wasn't, he didn't expect the bike to be stolen.

He used to have a bike in worse condition when he rode around as a teenager and the sole person who wanted that piece of shit was Daryl. Sometimes his brother borrowed it, Daryl taking that as a chance to take his brother's motorcycle out. The beat up metal hog sat in his garage at home and stood as a symbol for distant memories he seldom allowed himself to delve into. Sure, as anyone did, his issues never were dealt with vocally, but that didn't mean he wanted any kind of closure. Daryl's complacency with ignoring the rearing of countless demons came as easy as the flick of a wrist. They attempted to claw their way out in the past through high temperaments, but his wisdom and patience quickly took a hold of them and tamed them back into their mental caves.

"Came straight from school?" He asked.

"Yeah. I didn't really have anywhere else to go first." She shrugged her shoulders, the culprit that prompted the question in the form of a backpack sitting on her torso.

Not bothering to ask anything else, Daryl nodded his head and outstretched his arms towards the open space they stood in.

"This is the garage. I do all my work here. It fits about three cars at a time, so if anyone's real hardheaded about leavin' their car, there's extra space in the lot outside." He pointed to the parking spaces, taking the lead inside of the small building.

"Here's the front desk and waitin' area, in here's the office, and there's the restroom." He kept moving his limbs, looking over to her to see if there was any confusion on the impromptu tour. When he saw nothing but amusement on her features, he went over to the office and cleared his throat.

"You're gonna' be up front, you know, talkin' to people and keepin' records on the computer, but I need ya' to organize this office first." The disarray of papers and folders sat on the desk, on the floor, and askew on the bookshelf that stood behind everything.

The thing about Daryl was that he was always unabashedly himself, zero shame in the way he operated things or if it caused others visible discomfort. And yet, thinking back to the people he let passed the threshold into the tiny office, some splurge of embarrassment went up his spine. He never felt like he had to prove his work ethic to anyone, but the questions and explanations turned different when his shop came to mind.

"You don't have to get it done in one day. It's fine if you finish by the end of the week."

Why did he suddenly feel apologetic when it was her job? Well, the task was tedious and overwhelming upon first view… especially when you sat within the mess for too long.

Lydia stepped forward and took in the space of the room, head moving as she gazed upon the stacks of paper and cabinets. He wasn't sure if she was wondering what the hell she got into or if she was currently calculating how she was going to organize the chaos he mindlessly built up over the time span of a year. As she turned her head, Daryl watched and waited for some kind of reaction. She held it together if she was intimidated in any way, but then she turned towards him with a bright smile and brought her hands together in front of her.

"Okay, I'll get to it!" She exclaimed.

That's all he needed to puff out his cheeks and give a thin lipped expression before he made his way out and all the way back to the garage.

* * *

A cricket relentlessly chirped for perhaps a  _ thousandth _ time, a good reason for Daryl to believe it got stuck in the interior of one of the cars. He tried to ignore it and he managed to tune it out successfully several times, but then his mind roamed to random places and the sound penetrated his eardrums and reverberated off the walls when he least expected it to. Something in him wound up tight, finally snapping when he failed at forcing himself in concentrating further. He released a tool from his hand, the hood of the vehicle shut with an unintentional slam as he found determination to kill the damn bug scattering his brain across the board.

Headlights shining through the open garage door stopped him in his tracks, the blue truck attached heading off behind the building to park. At least, that's what he guessed. He checked his phone for the time, the signal he needed to send Lydia home (it was a school night) in less than half an hour dawning on him. He didn't take customers after a certain time, either, so he wondered who came by to try and get something done. Usually if there were more concerns, people called first. Those who arrived out of nowhere wanted service fast whether it was an emergency or because they waited until the very last second.

He prepared himself for an argument or an arrangement to take up his time and jump ahead of other clients to appease an angry individual as he headed to the front desk. The door's bell went off midwalk into the hallway, a woman standing next to the desk turned in a complete other direction. She kept moving her head, her body turning slightly, so then her gaze landed on his physiognomy. Doe, brown eyes followed his gait all the way to where he reached behind the desk, a large hand coming down to the top of its surface.

"We're closing up, you can come by in the mornin'," he said without trying to sound annoyed that he was interrupted from ending the hidden cricket's life. Also for the fact that the shop could not help anyone else until he ushered one car out of the establishment primed and fixed.

He tilted his chin downwards slightly, the woman in front of him having a significant height difference, but that didn't seem to matter with how lax her shoulders were. If she was intimidated, he detected no signs of it as she stared up at him through some rather long lashes. Ringlets of curls were pulled back by a grey hair tie, the style showing off the glint of small golden hoops in her earlobes. She had prominent features, and yet such a soft smile that broke across her lips as she raised a hand to hold her index finger up. Then, she reached down to retrieve something from her pocket, Daryl looking at her jeans in curiosity.

A notepad came from its contents, a pen coming from the pocket adjacent so she could write out a message. His eyebrows creased together as his confusion multiplied further by the passing seconds. He almost repeated himself for her to get the idea, but then the pad was in the air and close to his face without invading his personal space behind the desk.

_ I'm here to see Lydia. _

Oh.  _ Oh. _

"You're Connie, right?"

Connie nodded her head, smile unwavering as her teeth came into full view. Bad at picturing figures, her presence came as a surprise even though he talked to her a couple of days ago by email.

Daryl scratched the back of his head, ready to go fetch Lydia from the office, but then she emerged herself and brightened up when she laid eyes upon Connie. She rounded the desk, hugging Connie in an instant in what Daryl could only describe as genuine delight. It's not that it bothered him or created any envy, but he could not recall a time anyone ever saw him and had the same kind of joy in their reaction. People usually avoided him like they did a car wreck, his grunge exterior having others stare until they caught him looking back.

"Did you find the place fine?" Lydia asked, Daryl figuring out that Connie most likely read lips incredibly well.

In response, Connie lifted her hands, some movements he failed to recognize besides the thumbs up at the end of it.

"Yeah, I told him he has to work on his location," Lydia said with mischief in her eyes as she glanced over at him. He snorted, leaning back to try and ignore the rest of the interaction.

He succeeded, mostly. He caught his name once or twice while wiping down the counters. Their connection besides student and teacher still stood as unknown to him, but closeness established itself beyond that. He slid the rag into his pocket when Lydia came up to him and Connie watched from a distance near the front door.

"I'm gonna' get my stuff, she's giving me a ride," Lydia explained, heading off to the garage after the fact. He guessed the truck Connie brought would hold Lydia's bike.

His hands found purchase on top of the desk as he and Connie were left alone all over again. In one moment, they made eye contact for a split second, a grin on her end that he returned awkwardly in a deadpanned expression.

"Make sure she gets home safe," he said, sure to keep his head up for her to see. The point came across easily, another nod from Connie that he felt enough to trust.

Lydia returned through the front door, a wave in Daryl's direction. He waved his goodbye back, the duo leaving out of his line of sight. He made a mental note to ask how it went, perhaps pry just a bit to ease his raising curiosity. Unconsciously, he walked from the desk to office, entering to see the work Lydia completed after hours of being left alone… he wasn't disappointed.

The floor unveiled itself, the tile staring up at him without an assortment of papers covering its surface area. The shelves no longer displayed disorganization, manila files sitting neatly near handbooks he hadn't opened in years. He stepped forward, the clean desk's drawers opened by his hands to see things neatly tucked away. He appreciated it, younger generations stuffing things down instead of actually working to make things look as nice as they currently did. The room happened to appear better than it first did before he turned it upside down, something aesthetically pleasing about how the chaos muted. Daryl sat into the rolling chair, examining the room from a new perspective and it all felt like a breath of fresh air.

"Maybe 'cause it's got better ventilation now," he muttered to himself.

* * *

The shock of the cleaned office prompted him to close up a bit earlier than he usually did, coming into his house in an exhausted heap. He sat onto the couch, laptop conjuring a sound as soon as he became comfortable because of course it did. Daryl huffed out a breath, grabbing it into his lap to inspect what occurred for it to behave that way.

He got his answer in the form of an email, Connie's name highlighted in bold letters in the notification he received. He clicked onto it, the message opening up being:

_ Got Lydia home safe and sound in case you were wondering. I would've texted you, but I don't have your number. Though, I'm pretty sure you have mine since Lydia listed me as a reference. Drop me a line sometime, it's a little more convenient than email unless you want to be penpals. _

When he told her to ensure Lydia's security by the end of the night, Daryl didn't expect Connie to write him a confirmation. It did help nerves, however, knowing he didn't have to worry about anything else other than work and whether or not he fed himself at appropriate times. Speaking of food, he went into the kitchen and picked up an apple sitting in a bowl. He didn't stock up very often, roasting meat every now and then if he was hungry. As he bit into it, he pulled up his phone, scrolling through his contacts to find Connie who he put in ahead of time if she didn't answer her email.

He typed out a quick text, unsure of why he felt inclined to do so. He barely met her, barely knew anything about her other than the fact that she had a friendship with Lydia. It was just that something about her… it pulled him closer, magnetically attracted him. Perhaps it was the mystery part of things, how they left him in the dark and how smart she seemed. He didn't think too much on it, hitting send when he was satisfied.

_ Got your email. Thanks for letting me know _

And not even two seconds later, his phone  _ dinged _ and he read it with a snort.

_ Guess this means you didn't want to be penpals. _


	3. The Chaperone

No one should be up this early.

Connie’s not much of a night owl and her alarm (an assortment of vibrations near her head) does half the work alongside stellar motivation to get up everyday, but setting it to two hours earlier the night before physically and psychologically pained her. Normally, she rose at 6:00 and arrived at the high school by 7:30, but she promised to set up a fellow teacher's classroom for a substitute and the extra time was necessary to take care of her own as well. She nursed a seafoam thermos filled with coffee the entire drive, grateful the early hour entailed a low amount of traffic. She remained alert despite this, never too comfortable, and took full awareness of her surroundings, getting to her destination by 5:37.

She wasn’t usually one to get irritable, but she did spend an extra ten minutes hounding down a janitor who got there prior to the half hour mark and it added to her building annoyance.

At around the usual time she got there, her own empty classroom greeted her and she immediately got to work on drawing up the plan for the day. She wrote into a thick notebook, the last sip of coffee taken from her thermos as she did so. The pen on the paper stopped when something felt amiss, the familiar digits of a man's hands planted on the book to grab at her attention without actually touching her. She appreciated when someone approached her with less intrusive prompts, but considering how she knew who the hands belonged to, she stifled her sigh and leaned back into her rolling chair.

Her arms crossed against her chest, suspicions confirmed by the tall man standing in front of her desk with a wide smile: Ryker Grice. He habitually visited her to ramble about something in his life, but his current presence felt off for no other reason to her except a gut feeling. Those seldom proved themselves wrong.

“Good morning, Connie. You look great, get a good night’s sleep?” He said, enunciating every word. Her ability to read lips was rather astounding, so the gesture seemed far more agitating than helpful. Then again, she couldn't recall a time Ryker spoke to her without ensuring his words didn't come with some kind of physical, visible traits. However, instead of telling him that such a thing didn’t help, she stuck to a tight lipped smile and avoided the discomfort that conversation would cause.

Retrieving her pen and notepad, she began to jot down her response. He didn't know sign language, but teaching him meant she needed to spend time with the man and that thought cut her deeper than anything else. He made it evident he wished to do so frequently in the past, so maybe his gestures were purposely done until she cracked and gave into arrangements herself.

If it was all in her head, she still couldn’t entertain the idea of giving up so easily.

_ No, actually. I came in at  _ _ 5:30 _ _ ,  _ she wrote.

She underlined the timestamp for emphasis, watching him read the words as he feigned a pout. He looked up at her and created eye contact, insincere in his mock body language, but able to hold something deep in his dark eyes. She wondered how he did that, manipulate his pupils and emotions while his physicality told a completely different story. Display poetry with irises and eyelashes, but recite U.S. history in lines with no spaces using his arms and legs.

“You’ve already been here a while then, huh? By closing time, it’ll probably feel like the longest day of your life,” Ryker pointed out. Not wanting to extend this interaction further than it needed to be, she simply nodded her head. The reasoning behind this visit would appear soon and all she had to do was wait it out so she could get right back to work.

And as if he read her mind, he blew out a breath and leaned into her desk further saying, “listen, I didn’t really come in here for chit-chat. Don’t mean to do this to you on one of your busy days, but I wanted to talk about the homecoming dance.”

Now, that certainly captured her attention for several reasons, number one being how she was in charge of the whole thing. They named her the class sponsor for the seniors, responsibilities of guaranteeing they had the best-last-year falling onto her shoulders when she accepted the position. Naturally, she sat up straighter on her rolling chair and opened her arms to laying onto the desk. It’s how she showed she could accept information with her body.

“I had some plans come up and the date set was the day of the dance. I had no idea until I marked it down on my calendar and I can’t really back out, so I’m gonna’ have to take a rain check on chaperoning.” He revealed and shrugged his shoulders, almost too casually for her taste. Like he didn’t want to chaperone in the first place. She knew he didn’t, but she wasn’t expecting him to bail on her ten days away from the dance. For someone who seemed so interested, such didn’t translate on paper.

Connie took moments to calculate, staring in his direction, but right past him into space as she tried to muster up a proper and professional reply. She kept her cool in the strangest of times and greatest of catastrophes, but he possessed the ability to get under her skin so easily without any effort whatsoever. She must’ve taken too long because he seemed to have sensed her distress, hands waving in the air to try and push this new problem under the rug literally and metaphorically.

“Sorry, my hands are tied. I would change it if I could, but I just can’t. You’ll find somebody, I just know it. There’s tons of teachers in this school and there’s always parents willing to volunteer for this stuff.”

Ugh, the mansplaining was just making it worse.

“I have to go set up my room, but if you wanna’ talk some more, just shoot me an email. See ya’ later, Connie.” He finished with the audacity to smile after the newfound stress he toppled onto her small frame.

She waited for him to walk out of the room before her head fell onto the desk, her hands reaching up to slip into her hair to try and put scattered puzzle pieces back together. It did her no good, brain flying in various directions thinking about how difficult it was in the first place to find enough people to chaperone a bunch of kids. For it being such a large school, not a lot of the staff had school spirit. It didn’t help that they were underpaid and they barely held a budget to pull off an acceptable aesthetic in their gym. She already went to everyone and asked, a majority telling her no and coming up with excuses on the fly. She would’ve given them the benefit of the doubt if she had not received the same answer too many times in a row. And the parents? Ha, the parent teacher conferences in the past saw little to no traffic.

Basically, she was screwed. It stung that he knew it, too, and still backed out.

Her head lifted up, just in time to see Lydia entering the room and taking one of the seats sitting on the desks to bring it in front of Connie’s. Lydia placed an apple in front of Connie and it ignited an immediate smile on her features. It was such a cliche, but she developed a habit of having coffee hold her over until lunch time. Obviously, Lydia was not a fan of this habit.

“Morning, just saw Mr. Grice in the hall. He come in here?” She asked, trying to sign as she did so. She took a year of it and was still picking it up every time the two of them came together. Lydia got to school early so the two spent at least fifteen minutes with one another before Lydia stalked off to her first period. She also was quite aware of Grice’s need to be close to Connie… in fact, she was the one to first bring it up to Connie’s oblivious mind.

Telling her to wait a second, Connie took a bite of the apple and then placed it back down. She savored the fruit before she had to tell Lydia the bitter truth of the current dilemma. Then, she swallowed down what she chewed and signed the news Ryker dropped on her:

_ He told me he won’t be able to chaperone for the dance. _

Lydia mirrored Connie’s expression from earlier, her eyes widening as she let her lips part in disbelief. It sped Connie’s heart rate up, the knowledge of how much this dance meant to Lydia not helping the circumstances. Breaking promises never did sit well with Connie.

“So, what, now you don’t have enough people? Is the dance gonna’ be called off?” She replied, her sign a bit sloppier. She wasn’t prepared for the news, but then again, neither was Connie. It blindsided her and additionally repudiated anything good about the morning.

_ I don’t know. If I don’t find someone in time… yes. _

It was difficult for Connie to let that out, the visible, upset expression on Lydia’s face causing a pang in her chest. They both agreed to make this last year count after a harsh junior year, but this put a blunder on things. It was the second thing for Lydia to have fun at, the first being the home game. Connie sighed out, knowing all the child has been through not helping how she wanted to do something for her that she actually had control of. It was so simple and yet so complicated at the same time… but she needed to find a way to make it possible somehow. Perhaps she was in the wrong to care so much and set herself up for failure, but she couldn’t help it.

Connie touched her shoulder, Lydia trying to feign a smile as she looked up. Connie knew it too well, how much she probably practiced it in the mirror.

_ Don’t worry, okay?  _ She widened her grin, reassuring Lydia as best as she could,  _ I’ll make sure we have that dance. _

Lydia softly matched her expression, a nod of her head telling Connie that she believed her. And that’s all she really needed: Lydia’s trust.

* * *

Three weeks went by with Lydia working for Daryl, three weeks of smooth sailing that he never experienced since probably the day he opened up the shop all those years ago. Besides the clean and organized office, she transferred files (and kept them in cabinets so they wouldn’t throw anything away) onto the computer and handled customers a lot better than he did. In all fairness, talking was not his strong suit and she seemed to know what to tell others. They had a few assholes here and there, but he was more than happy to put them in their place by mean mugging it and having them feel guilty for disrespecting a teenager. It’s a pleasure to knock off people from their high horses, more so than telling someone “have a nice day.”

Blegh.

It was also an easy gig for her. Once she did all the organization and downsizing, all she really had to do was set up appointments, order parts every now and then, and keep records of the cars people brought in. She gave him a quick tutorial on how to do it without her, too, but he chose to wait for her to come into work, taking notes for her to put down. Someday he’d get the hang of it, but cars were more of his slice of cake and he didn’t plan on exploring any other flavors anytime soon. He never could rely on anyone like this. It made him complacent, but she seemed to enjoy working there with a vibrant attitude and a clever sense of humor. 

Which seemed to have taken a vacation today because they didn’t have much customers coming in so he elected to have her help in the garage, but as she held the lamp above the hood, he could see her spacing off. It could’ve been a rocky day at school or something, but he wouldn’t overstep and ask. They saw each other a lot and had a good work relationship, but it’s not like he had friends he talked to about personal problems either. Could he say they were friends? Would it be sad for your only friend to be a damn senior in high school? That has to be nice to you because you’re the boss? Well, it would’ve been really fucking weird if they became friends without having had worked together.

“Little higher,” he instructed in reference to the light. He pulled her out of wherever universe she was currently in, a shake of her head signifying that she came back to reality. Lydia did as he asked, Daryl being the first to break the silence, thus the catalyst that brought her to pay attention to the metal they worked on.

“Daryl?” Lydia called for his awareness, but he could merely provide half as he examined the material as closely as possible. Shit was always too easy to miss so he had to be thorough. It sometimes meant staring at the same parts for far too many hours.

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Technically, that was already a question in itself, but she was probably curious about what they were currently looking for. She knew the problem and wrote down a description of it into the computer, so maybe the current light gig got old. He knew it wasn’t the most glamorous thing, but he thought it beat sitting at the front desk playing some game on her phone… okay, it didn’t, but he needed a light holder.

“How… how do you know if… i-if a boy likes you?” is not the question he expected to come off of her lips, the tool he held in his hand slipping from his grip. It startled him, a slight bounce in his broad frame as he sighed out a “damn it” and tried to find where the hell he dropped the item.

Lydia seemed just as startled by his reaction, though. But, she didn’t drop the lamp she was holding. Instead, she brought it closer to try and help him locate where he managed to lose it. He seldom is so clumsy unless something out of his realm comes up and renders him into the most awkward human on the face of the earth. Of all the things she could have said, he wasn’t ready for her to ask  _ him _ something so… high school-y?

And why did she need his advice when she always was so quick-witted and smart? It barely made sense to him, bringing the tool up from the spaces in between the parts under the hood. It was stained in grime, so he reached for his rag in his pocket to wipe it clean.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” she said sheepishly. He, on the other hand, shrugged his shoulders and walked to his tool boxes neatly in their rolling cart.

“Nah, it’s whatever. Just… why ya’ askin’  _ me _ ? Can’t ya’ ask like Connie or somethin’?” Because surely Connie knows. From their frequent texting and continuous conversation over the course of three weeks, he’s positive Connie is the smartest person in the world. Much more equipped to give advice about boys and the two were closer.

“No… well… yeah, but it’s not the same.  _ You’re _ a guy, wouldn’t you know from firsthand experience?”

Ah, there’s the smartmouth he hadn’t had the luxury of hearing today.

“Can’t ya’ just ask your dad?” He grumbled, rummaging through the other tools. He didn’t look at her, the clank of metal on metal soothing his currently jumping nerves.

“He’s… he’s too busy,” she muttered. Though, she sounded different then when the question first presented itself. The change in her tone caused him to look up from the tools, a shift in her expression telling him she was wrestling with emotions she didn’t know how to deal with. Maybe it was because of her father’s apparent absence and transparent neglect or because of her confused feelings about a boy she had in mind, but she clearly didn’t know where to turn to. Why else would she ask Daryl?

Lydia shone brightly in the shop, it’s not something he was used to seeing, so he felt awfully conflicted. Emotions weren’t his thing, feelings not something he dealt with healthily. While he was the worst candidate, he succumbed into the familiar sadness in her eyes.

He sighed out in defeat, leaning some of his weight into the cart. Its wheels were set and not moving from such, so it helped him support himself as he tried to find the right words to tell her.

“Listen, kid, growin’ up, I didn’t really pay any attention to anyone, shit like that was kinda’ the last thing on my mind. I didn’t look at nobody like that, but my brother always pressured me to. Shit felt real forced.” He responded slowly. With this being the subject, he opted to stare blankly into space as he recalled how awkward he felt having his brother always arranging girls to see the both of them. They weren’t exactly pleasant memories, but memories nonetheless. His first kiss, first time, first girlfriend, they didn’t go very smoothly with family cooing in his ear emasculating him about it. Something was always wrong with every girl in their eyes and by association, something always had to be wrong with Daryl.

“But I know how a lot of boys think. Either they’re immature as shit and they’re only lookin’ to screw around, or they go out their way to actually invest time in someone. If it feels like they’re not payin’ much attention or chasin’ you back if you’re chasin’ them, then they don’t feel the same way.” He hoped that didn’t come off too blunt, but he wasn’t going to bullshit her. She was better than the petty shit that could go down in high school and she needed to know it. If the boy in her radar was anything like his brother, she definitely needed the advice to know to run.

“Okay… but… what if the boy smiles at you a lot and always waves at you from far away and always tries to sit next to you in class and even asks you to the homecoming dance, but his friends are really popular and not the kind of people you hang out with so you’re kind of scared of going with him… even if you said yes, even if you like him a lot,” she rambled, gazing at Daryl with conflict, fear, and hope in her eyes. He wasn’t too sure how to answer, but her face lit up talking about a majority of it, so he tried to deduct it as carefully as he could.

“I think you know,” he said softly. “I think you know he likes you, but you’re scared of what his friends will say… fuck that, Lydia. Just do you, yeah?” He finished and tried to offer a smile to the best of his abilities. He wasn’t good at this by any means, but he saw the way she breathed in and out to calm herself and took it as a good sign.

She looked more relieved, her lax shoulders telling him that she just needed to get confirmation from someone else… or just talk about it so it wasn’t as overwhelming. Their conversation ran short and she probably had a million other questions he most likely couldn’t answer. Regardless, he was happy to help, returning to retrieving tools from the cart and continuing his car process.

“So… you’re a virgin?” She blurted out of the blue and he glared at her, hearing the bell from the front door just in time for him to point to the hall.

“Shut up and get back to work.”

* * *

Daryl showered after he got home, boxer briefs all that he bothered with as he laid into bed. His conversation with Lydia kept replaying in his head and he couldn’t help but wonder if he told her the right things. It’d stick with him since up until that point, they mostly spoke in work terms or joking around with dry humor. The last time he brought up his brother was years ago when someone asked him about it, so he couldn’t help but think that he unveiled too much about himself.

He needed to take his mind off of it and not toy around with the possibility that Lydia could get hurt, of course insomnia hitting him as hard as it possibly could. It couldn’t have been any other way when his mind produced what felt like a thousand thoughts per second.

He raised up his phone, unconsciously opening his messages to see Connie hadn’t answered him in technically two days (it was past midnight). He did text her “okay good luck” last when she mentioned she needed to sleep early to do some stuff for another teacher, but she usually texted back a lot faster. It’s not like he was waiting for it or looking forward to hearing something back, but in three weeks, they did get into this weird habit of telling each other what was going on in their lives. It just kind of happened, Connie texting him “good morning” three days in a row to which Daryl answered “what’s so good about it” every time.

It wasn’t  _ boring  _ like Daryl’s other text messages which were usually about the shop. She genuinely seemed to care by asking about his day and giving advice when he ranted about certain customers one rough hour. It gave him something to do even if she had quick thumbs and his were slow with the seemingly too tiny buttons on his touch screen. He found her amusing, catching himself smiling when she sent him jokes about cars because she was bored at the school.

It was… refreshing. Undemanding unlike anything else going on in his life.

_ Didn’t die from the extra work, did you?  _ was typed, but then erased when he found it to be too morbid. It also implied she couldn’t handle herself and he didn’t believe that. He didn’t care about double texting, but neither of them did that in their conversation. So, why did it feel weird?

_ How did it go,  _ He asked and settled for, not wanting to come off nosey but friendly. He had trouble talking, he was pretty aware, but texting shouldn’t have been so hard. She always wrote so nice and eloquently that he couldn’t help but try and match it. It didn’t always hit like he thought, but she didn’t seem to mind, either. His head just kept caving in on itself repeatedly when it came to this unexplored territory.

_ Well, I didn’t die so I guess that’s a plus,  _ he read to himself, smacking his forehead internally when he realized his first text would’ve been fine.

_ That bad, huh?  _ What he drew from previous conversations, she found the silver lining in things too often. If the sole one was that she didn’t meet her maker, then it had to be a bad day she endured.

_ Yes, that bad. I think my head might explode if I don’t stop thinking about it. _

That was a pretty graphic image, but she was a writer and he could see a pretty good one at that. It was off putting for her to send something so out of character. It was him who vented in rather angry texts when one too many people pissed him off and her who tried to make him see that it wasn’t worth the hassle or the rise in blood pressure. Today was just a day of anomalies: first Lydia seeming so down, the next being Daryl opening up slightly, and now Connie was at risk of blowing up from her own thoughts. He could relate, keeping the harder stuff to himself enough times to comprehend how detrimental it became. For some reason, he convinced himself she didn’t deserve that kind of weight on her mentality.

It’s why he hesitantly sent  _ Wanna talk about it?  _ and tortured himself by watching the bubble come up as she started to type. Did he truly care about it? Was he just being nice or continuing his vent spree from earlier with Lydia? This was an adult, so she most likely didn’t need any kind of his advice. Why did he offer, shit, he was getting nervous since the damn bubble kept pausing and going and—

_ First off, I chased a janitor around for the keys to the classroom I needed to set up. Then, once I got the room set up, I went to do mine and got a visit from another teacher who told me he couldn’t chaperone for the dance I’m in charge of when we only have ten days until it comes. I tripped over my feet several times while giving lessons, watched kids try not to laugh at me, and have spent basically all night trying to replace this teacher by sending mass emails and text messages. As you can guess, most have said no, and the rest have not bothered to even answer. _

Well, shit. He blinked as he read the paragraph, putting himself in her shoes and realized how much of it would annoy him the very same. Especially since he wasn’t a people person by any means.

_ If I could give this never ending day a title, it would be: Minor (yet-not-so-minor) Inconveniences. _

He grinned at that, the funny to the horrid side enough for him to know that she was trying to brush it off.

_ That shit sounds like a lot. Teacher sounds like a prick… any of the kids get you falling on video? _

He was trying to ease the mood as best as he could, lift her spirits after what sounded like a rough day.

_ Ha ha, none of them were quick enough and even then I would’ve destroyed the evidence. So, joke’s on you. But, yeah, he’s a prick. I struggled to find someone for the last spot before he volunteered, so you can only imagine how much I’m struggling now. _

_ Damn it, I’ll have to trip you or something next time I see you then. Sorry about that, asshole tried to play white knight just to leave the dragon to eat you anyway. _

He sat up in bed, but was far more relaxed than he was laying down. He wondered why he was so nervous in the first place to talk about her problems. It wasn’t too bad, and he could tell that she was loosening up on her end. He tried to envision this person who carried herself so steadfast slipping over her own shoes. It was comical, but he couldn’t imagine her actually falling. She kept gracefully saving herself and it just felt right. He only saw her for short periods of times when she picked up Lydia, but she remained confident in each and greeted him with a wave of her hand. 

_ You can try, Daryl, you can try. Will you succeed? No, but at least I’ll have that failed attempt in my memory bank when I need a laugh. I’m still peeved off about it because if I don’t find someone, they’ll have to call off the dance and a lot of kids are excited for it. We can’t postpone it since it’s supposed to be after the game, so the school could just see it as a way to save money. _

_ You can’t just lay down that challenge and expect me to be afraid. You’re all text and no action. I’m sorry about this. I’d help you if I could. _

Shit, why did he say that? He was getting the hang of typing faster and it just ended up slipping out. His thoughts paused and he willingly put himself out on a limb like that unconsciously. Did he mean it? Was he going to send a follow up text about how he wasn’t trying to overstep?

_ I’ll show you action, Dixon. _

Did she just—

As he pondered what that could possibly entail and whether or not she was serious, another text came in:

_ Yeah, you mind volunteering as a chaperone and watching over teenagers sway back and forth awkwardly until around 1 am to make sure they all get home safely and out of the building? _

Daryl did not expect that question to follow after the…  _ interesting  _ text before it, but he pondered and stared at the screen for a few moments. Against rhyme and reason, his thumbs flew faster than thoughts again for the second time that night and he sent back:

_ Okay. _

It couldn’t be that hard, could it? It was an easy favor and Lydia did trust her quite a bit from what he could see and the sole thing it would be hurting was his pride.

_ Seriously?! WOW, I was joking! You don’t really have to if you don’t want to, it’s okay I can try looking some more. _

Oh, she was joking. And he was genuinely considering doing it and… she was joking. Yet, he didn’t feel obligated to send that text in the first place. She asked (what he assumed anyway) and he answered. It didn’t kill him, it didn’t hurt, and he  _ wanted  _ to help. His previous misconception that he didn’t because of his impulsive texts was bullshit and he realized that right then and there as he took his time to reply. The revelation was enough for him to type again.

_ If you can’t find anyone, I can step in and sponsor it or something like that. You get a chaperone, some extra money, and it’ll look good on my taxes. _

Yes, because he was doing it for the taxes. Totally.

_ Okay, yes! Thank you, you ACTUALLY saved my ass from the dragon! I will not be eaten!!!!! _

Her reaction made things a lot better. The excitement, the relief, the callback to the dragon thing he sent a bit ago, it created a funny feeling he rarely felt. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he decided not to dwell on it.

_ I can’t wait, it’s gonna be great! I’ll let you know if I find anyone. Thank you again, now I can finally get some sleep. Goodnight, Daryl. _

That funny feeling was still lingering, looming over his head to try and gain his attention. He swatted away at it and ended their conversation for the night with:

_ No problem. Goodnight, Connie. _

The next day, he told himself it was because he wanted Lydia to have her homecoming date… even though he wasn’t really thinking about Lydia when he made the decision the night before.


	4. Homecoming

In the time span of eight days, Connie did not find a willing participant to volunteer as chaperone for the homecoming dance. She tried to go face to face with other teachers who failed to answer her emails, but they declined the very same as they did before when she reached out back during summer break. She didn’t expect their decisions to change, but she wanted to ensure she exhausted every possibility to ensure Daryl didn’t have to do it. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate the gesture, but she knew he was doing it as a favor to her for Lydia and she wanted to try and save him from attending a school he had no association with. However, at the three day mark, she sent him a text about background checks and some forms he needed to fill out which he fulfilled and came out clean of. She trusted he was an okay person and not an ex/ongoing serial killer, but the school required it for volunteers who were not staff and or parents/guardians.

Each day she thanked him and they went over the sponsorship deal through email. Not one day passed where she failed to notify him in her existing search for another candidate, but not one day did he seem bothered or frustrated by it. He reassured her he could do it perhaps a hundred times in response to her perfectionist need to keep everyone involved aware of the situation. But, languor never developed when it came to texting him or seeing him a few times when she and Lydia made arrangements for a ride home. With how much they remained in contact, she came to the conclusion that the two of them accidentally bloomed a friendship out of motor oil and #2 pencils.

She, of course, texted him that to try and show off her not-so-clever analogy, but she remembered how he responded with “more like wrenches and rulers” and how she smiled to herself because he basically admitted they were friends.

On Daryl’s end, things picked up at the shop with parents and teenagers coming up to him to meet their car needs for the upcoming dance. Word got out of his sponsorship and Connie explained to him it was due to morning announcements she didn’t have control of, and it somehow gave mothers and fathers the right to interact with him like he had a kid. The adolescents who came in (who Lydia mostly recognized) tried to talk to him like he was their friend. He never knew what to do in any of these brand new situations, awkwardly nodding his head when the subject of children were brought up and football players (confirmed by Lydia) thanked him for helping out with upcoming school events for their senior year.

In turn, he got a lot of work done since no one wanted to be the dork with a broken car they needed to drive their date in. At least, that’s how Lydia and her friend Enid explained it to him one day when he got visibly annoyed with the sudden influx of teens loitering in his waiting area and parking lot.

Friday came fast with how busy he kept in between work, emails, and updates with Connie. He got most of his shit together and brought in his beat up car to tend to since he planned on closing up early after Lydia left for the home game. Connie gave her a ride over and she waved to Daryl before she took off back in the direction of the school. Lydia sat on a rolling chair in the garage when she finished some paperwork, an obvious excitement building up as the time changed further and further. She carried a permanent smile on her face and he couldn’t help but wonder if her face was going to get stuck like that.

“Doesn’t all that smilin’ hurt?” He asked from under his hood.

“A little, but you wouldn’t know,” she replied, scrunching her nose and sticking out her tongue childishly. He kept his laugh stifled and continued to work on the engine.

“I smile,” he stated. Rarely, but he did. He remained solemn or irritated for personal reasons, but sometimes that natural expression of his broke under the unstoppable force of a grin.

“Bullshit,” she uttered back. Just when he went to argue, her phone went off with a ding and he curiously stood from his car to wipe his hands and see what the problem was if any.

He usually kept to himself when her phone went off, but the mere sound caused him to react because for a moment, he thought it was his own mobile device. His eyes remained on her facial structure and he watched her former smile fall into a thin line. He leaned into his car and brought his arms over his chest, reading how she tried to keep the disappointment out of her features. It’s quite a difficult thing to do when you were once so over the moon. It’s only so detectable when you take a sixty foot drop.

“What happened?” He braced himself, a tad worried about what could come from her mouth. His ability to empathize improved over the past few weeks when he listened to the troubles Lydia and Connie harbored.

“My ride canceled on me. He can’t come ‘cause he stayed at school for the game and now he’s getting ready for it so he doesn’t even have a chance.” She sighed out in defeat and fell backwards into her chair. Her phone dropped into her lap as she tucked hair behind her ears. He could just see how her mood shifted, how easily things could go wrong in a flash.

“Maybe Connie can come pick ya’ up?” He suggested, but Lydia immediately shook her head back and forth.

“She has to stay at the school since she’s the class sponsor. She’s got to get things done and if she comes for me, it’ll set her back and I’ll be there late.” Her attention went to her now twiddling thumbs, her phone going off again, but this time several dings at once. Looking severely agitated, she tucked the phone away into her bag.

“What about Enid?” He tried. The girl stayed at the shop a few times throughout the week and the two seemed to get along pretty well and have the same sense of humor. Ah, another kid to poke fun at Daryl while he tried to do his job.

“She doesn’t have a car. She skates everywhere,” she muttered, but low this time like she tried to mask the current emotion threatening to break loose in her voice.

The walk to school took some time because her bike ride to work took over twenty minutes. If she wanted to walk to the school’s stadium for over fifteen miles just for a goddamn game, he saw the issue she currently had. Not only would she get there exhausted, she’d be late and miss about half of it. While Daryl could not see the appeal of being involved in high school when his school spirit was nonexistent when he attended, the loss of her hopes didn’t sit right with him. She was saddened over something so small in his eyes and that solely meant to him that it was big in hers. It’s why he closed the hood of his car and fished out the keys from his pocket.

“Come on, let’s go.” He went through the hall to lock up the doors and register before he came right back to see her clambering out of her seat.

“What do you m—”

“I’ll take ya’ to the game.”

“Really?!” She hopped up to her feet and rounded the car, opening up the passenger seat to stare at him in disbelief as he got into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, hurry up before I change my mind.” He said and he watched as her smile returned, one of his own slipping free when he drove forward and got out to close the garage behind.

* * *

Finding a parking space for a game of high school football was a bitch and a half, but he wanted to get close enough to the stadium to minimize the amount of walking Lydia had to do. She also insisted to stay inside of the car until she saw Enid, so Daryl didn’t mind taking extra time to search around with her. Being alone in social situations was ironic, but too real nonetheless.

Eventually, he parked the car and the two left from the vehicle to scope around the area. They walked to the entrance where tickets were being sold and Enid came shuffling through a large crowd gathering around the concession.

“There she is! Thanks, Daryl!” Lydia exclaimed as she waved and ran off enthusiastically.

Daryl raised his hand for an awkward wave of his own, doing the same when Enid told him goodbye, and then watched as the two disappeared into the sea of rising adults and children. Blowing out a breath, he stepped away and turned to get back to his car when his phone went off in his pocket. Retrieving it, he checked the message.

_I didn’t know football was your thing._

He shifted from one foot to the next, the lasting shred of sunlight glaring into his squinting eyes as he scanned around. He saw Connie waving across the way at one of the concessions, a gesture created for him to come where she was once she realized he spotted her. Pondering if he should go over or not, he slipped his phone back into his jeans and looked from her to his car.

It wouldn’t hurt to stop and say hi, would it? He had nothing better to do, originally intending on working on his car at the shop for a bit before heading off home and tending to the small yard.

Before he knew it, he walked in her general direction and passed through the other people to get to Connie. Height wasn’t something he generally noticed, but in comparison to everyone sauntering around her, she was rather small. The revelation that the two never stood that close for him to realize this was fascinating. She stepped away from the boothed area and met him at a distance from the entrance, which he felt grateful for because crowds just weren’t his cup of tea.

 _Did you come to see the game?_ she wrote and displayed on her pad. Daryl read quickly, but then shook his head.

“Nah, I dropped off Lydia since she didn’t have a ride. Ima’ go and get some shit done.” He stated, but gnawed onto his lower lip afterward. Face to face, their conversations revolved around lip reading and _actual_ reading and he felt weird that she had to be inconvenienced even if she was good at multitasking.

Connie flipped through the pages of her notepad and when she found one she was satisfied with, she showed Daryl and then underlined the one word sitting there.

_Stay._

Nervously, he tensed his shoulders and weighed his options: a football game where he could possibly sit on some uncomfortable bleachers, or busy work to keep his energy focused on something other than spiraling thoughts. Both had their pros and cons, but in a way, they felt like the same thing. The car and the yard business stemmed from his idea of doing nothing in a day and the game captured a capability of holding his attention for a few hours before he would go home and try to fight his insomnia. Actually, at the end of the night, regardless of doing either, Daryl’s boxing match with insomnia did not remove itself from his schedule. The impending war for sleep stayed on his agenda no matter what strenuous or not-so-strenuous activity he engaged in.

Glancing at Connie, he registered her change in stance. The notepad dissipated from its previous position suspended in the space between them, her hand out in front of her as an indication for him to take it. The smile on her features was pleasant and inviting, most likely to lure him into taking her physical invitation into the stadium. She could’ve turned around and motioned for him to follow her, but instead, she extended herself and waited patiently for him to make some kind of decision. He couldn’t blame her for keeping talk with pen and paper to a minimum, but getting straight to the point by utilizing action exposed a tenacity he really respected.

Despite a reluctance and apprehension to touch, he gradually reached out, and took her hand.

Immediate warmth molded into the calluses of his larger hand, hers being enveloped by it, but unbothered as she beamed and led him past the booths and into the fences below the rows of concrete seats. Consciously, he sensed the rough interior of his digits and palm pressured into the smooth, gentle interior of hers. Connie did, too. She knew that he worked with his hands a lot so it made sense, but a high heat radiated off of him and she connected that to his broadness.

The two sat into a higher row away from the parents and peers, only leaving a good foot of space in between them as they directed their focus to the start of the football game. He leaned back and placed his hands onto the edges on either side of him to get comfortable.

At first, it felt uneasy. Daryl tried to keep his attention on the game, but he stole a few glances over at Connie every now and then. Her energy and passion never changed, clapping and reacting when things happened whether they were negative or positive. For Connie, it was necessary to observe every little thing she could or else become a bit lost. Daryl recognized that, sure she gave so many things her all naturally. It raised the question of if she knew how to put on an act with those she wasn’t interested in.

A man walked up the steps to their location. Daryl noticed in his wandering mind, but Connie only did when he walked in front of the two of them and blocked their view for a few seconds. If Daryl didn’t know any better, he caught the expression of annoyance crossing her features before she gave the man a tight lipped grin.

“This seat taken?” asked the mystery man, but he didn’t wait for an answer and sat down right next to Connie on the opposite side. Daryl sensed a strain from her end, but the guy seemed to be oblivious as he clapped obnoxiously loud and screamed something about “number 8.”

“So, you gonna’ introduce me to your friend?” He questioned, purposely staring at Connie so she could read his lips.

Taking in his words, she nodded and then reached for her notepad inside of her pocket. While entertaining his unpleasant behavior added more fuel to the fire, she didn’t want Daryl getting the wrong idea. Dismissing him so suddenly could come off as shame she didn’t have for Daryl in the slightest.

 _This is Daryl,_ she wrote and then presented. She went to write his name for Daryl to see next, but was interrupted when the man leaned forward and brushed against her.

“Daryl? Daryl Dixon? Wow, nice to meet ya’, my name’s Ryker Grice,” he said and stuck his hand in front of Connie for Daryl to reach out towards. Daryl stared at the offer, glancing between Connie and Ryker. His decision to not take the handshake was made the second he leaned towards him, tension hanging in the air as he left the other man hanging.

“Germaphobe? I get it,” Ryker continued, dropping his hand back into his personal space. It looked like he attempted to include Connie in the conversation by leaning back, facing towards them, and placing his elbow on his thigh. “I saw Connie from over there and thought I’d swing by to say hi. Didn’t think I’d meet the man who sponsored some of the school’s funding and volunteered to take my place for chaperoning the dance. I gotta’ say thank you and I owe you one all in the same breath.”

A chuckle came off of Ryker’s lips, somehow resounding in Daryl’s ears despite the energy from the crowd animating to life after someone scored a touchdown. He felt himself getting annoyed by it, keeping his cool and not resorting to his usual insolence out of consideration for Connie. But, he _was_ the asshole she mentioned in emails, a conclusion Daryl drew when he mentioned filling in for him. While he could tell Ryker to fuck off, it was Connie’s coworker who she had to see often. Putting her in that position because he was a little irritated wasn’t right.

He watched as Connie dropped her head to write something else, but then halftime hit and someone new came up to them. The lady acknowledged Daryl and Ryker, but then signed something to Connie and then Connie stood up and followed her down the stone steps. She took a longing look back, a finger lifted telling Daryl she would return, but he was now left alone with Ryker.

The absence of sound between both men became apparent when Daryl kept his focus on the now empty field ahead. He had yet to say an actual word to Ryker, nods of his head and quiet grunts resonating throughout his rather long introduction.

He knew it wouldn’t last.

“You know, Daryl, canceling on Connie was really hard on me since I know how important just showing up was to her. It’s nice that you’re doing this; I knew she’d find someone in time,” he said, sounding far more genuine than before. Daryl changed his view to Ryker, sighing out and shrugging his shoulders to brush it off to the best of his abilities.

“Ain’t no problem. Jus’ tryin’ to help.” He acted just as awkward when parents and students thanked him at his shop, not sure how to take appreciation. He received it often when he rectified cars like brand new or in cases of auto-emergencies, but it never stuck with him. 

“Mhm… friendly advice, Daryl: throwing money at Connie and ‘saving the day’ when she needs it isn’t going to get you laid.”

Daryl blinked incredulously as he stared at Ryker who grinned so widely that he saw his teeth on full display. A strong urge developed to punch him right in the mouth and leave an assortment of denture material on the floor, but his shock kept him glued to his seat.

“I’ve tried myself, but nothing works. You’re chasing forbidden fruit and to me, you look a little desperate. It’s not worth it, my friend.” Ryker stood from where he sat and then walked away as an expression of pity came over his features.

It took pure willpower not to send him crashing down the steps, Daryl’s blood boiling for various reasons. One, Ryker didn’t have any right to speak about Connie like that in any capacity no matter how defeated the douchebag felt. Two, the assumption of Daryl’s kindness and how it had to be connected to sex was the kind of bullshit he used to deal with in the past at a constant. And three, Daryl wasn’t doing it to get in her good graces, much less her pants. He was doing it because she was a friend and he wanted to. That’s it. No underlying motives.

As he contemplated walking around the stadium to find Ryker and force him to swallow his own tongue, Connie came back and sat down next to Daryl with an elaborate exhale. The foot between them from before decreased, exertion noticeably radiating off her as she quickly wrote out on paper: _Where’s Ryker?_

“He left,” he said, not sure if he should mention what happened. It would get his blood pressure to skyrocket while he acted out on his previous desires. He also wasn’t too fond of potentially hurting her feelings in his retelling.

That was all the explanation she needed, though, and she brought her hands together palm to palm and lifted them into the sky as if her prayers had been answered. The dramatic signal caused him to snort, a shake of his head occurring. She took the edge off him enough, Ryker far in the back of his mind as he continued to watch her reactions to the rest of the game.

* * *

As Connie told him to, he arrived at the dance thirty minutes early and gazed around the high school gym as he waited to be greeted. When he came in through the front of the building, they took his identification and gave him a flimsy lanyard with his picture hanging off the end of it. An audible groan came off his lips when they told him the procedure to follow, but the desk lady said “not to be a baby” while she took his picture and quickly got it printed out for him. It’s not like it clashed with his outfit (a regular, worn button-up and jeans) it was the fact that he hated having his picture taken. He meandered from there with a grumble, following her directions to get to the gym which was on the other side of the school.

An assortment of maroon and gold coated the walls, pictures of the football players in action hanging on strings probably from the night before. Whoever worked on the yearbook committee worked fast to get them up there he surmised. Streamers and balloons were a given, exactly what he expected as a DJ set up his equipment nonchalantly in a far off corner.

The steel toe of his boot kicked one of the inflated items away from obstruction, the lightest touch sending them floating a good few feet diagonal of him. He never bothered going to any of the dances planned when he grew up, finding solace in spending the night out in nature or simply going straight home. The closest he knew about them was in movies and shows, but those portrayed unrealistic versions of teenagers attempting to do the right thing on their own. Brainwashing certainly tried to reach the youth through television in his adolescence, the introduction of sex and violence being rather difficult for parents to handle.

Except, for Daryl, the subjects weren’t foreign and his father never made the same fuss.

A continuous _click-clack_ resounded throughout the gym, Daryl’s head turning to the source as it got louder and neared closer and closer. The culprit of the noise was Connie, her high heels giving her a few extra inches of height. They added length to her legs, but he didn’t notice them until now when they were unveiled. This was the first time he actually saw her in a dress, the skirt of it stopping just below her knees. It drew outwards from her thighs, each step she took swaying it enough for him to see beyond her calves. Blue complemented her tone well, her eyes sparkling with the limelight above them. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, ringlets of endless curls bouncing with every movement as if they were sentient.

This was a lot different than how he saw her before, the gloss on her lips sheened by the fluorescence above. Every aspect morphed, minimal changes that shouldn’t have gained his attention the way that they did. Even the lanyard on her neck didn’t look ridiculous as his did, suddenly feeling severely underdressed in comparison. But why the hell did that thought cross his mind when he never gave a damn about his appearance, the evidence being his overgrown hair he stopped getting cut. Connie was most likely not even trying and he gave extra thinking to his clothing choice because his usual get-up involved old coveralls.

Shit, was he staring? He needed to stop.

He dropped his gaze immediately to the floor and hoped to whatever God that was above triggering new sentiments and observations within him was merciful enough for it to have only been less than a minute of gazing. The last thing he needed was to be labelled some kind of creep after the thorough background check.

 _You made it!_ She wrote and showed him, snorting as he looked over and saw the belt at her waist was where she kept her notepad. She certainly thought of everything while simultaneously dressing for the occasion.

“Grew up ‘round here, kinda’ hard to get lost,” he said in response. He was aware she meant being there on time, her playful smile and touch of her hand on his bicep pushing gently telling him she caught onto his attempt at humor. That was all anyone could really ask for sometimes.

 _We can stick together, but we also have to keep an eye out._ This page did not have to be altered underneath the ink of her pen. Instead, it presented itself in all its pre-planned glory and he wondered what other messages lied in the notes to further give away her need to be one (or two, who’s counting) step ahead of the curve. A sense of organization came about her, how easily she seemingly had her life together when Daryl saw little to no point in his. As depressing as it sounded in his head, he woke up, worked, and then went home on a routine. Sometimes he fed himself, took care of the bare necessities, but nothing glamorous or out of the ordinary filled up his time.

“Usin’ this as an excuse to stay glued to me, huh?” He joked, positive they would be separated on more than one occasion to take a gander at different areas of the gym. The school held a populous student body from what he saw at the game, so he understood why Connie desperately needed people to fill in. That and the fact that the superintendents most likely didn’t trust the students enough.

He waited for her to come up with something witty back, but nothing came. No scribbling, no flipping through previously written comments, but instead, the exact opposite occurred. Connie brought her hands in front of her and pointed her palms upwards. She created a seesaw motion, her face not having a trace of mischief, but a tenderness in her eyes and resting expression. Then, she walked to the DJ, probably checking in on them the very same as she did him.

 _What the hell was that supposed to mean?_ He thought to himself.

* * *

How the hell did he end up here, again? Eavesdropping as sobbing came and echoed off the tiled walls of the restroom.

Oh wait… He remembered. He remembered quite vividly.

Daryl and Connie spent a bit of time around each other, separating every now and then when she needed to speak to other teachers or if either needed to keep kids from practically groping one another. It proved to be an easy gig, standing there with his arms crossed as Connie raised a few jokes up on her notepad. That was until some girls came up to Lydia, said something about her date, Henry, and then punch ended up all over the front of her dress.

Daryl saw the beginning of the interaction, his eyebrows furrowing at the distance he stood. He could’ve stepped off the wall and listened since it looked like Lydia was upset, but he chose to hang back. He regretted it once the punch splashed, teenagers around her turning to look in the direction of the scuffle. Immediately, he walked over as Lydia ran off to who knew where, other teachers coming up to reprimand the girls since they seemed to have watched what occurred the very same. As they led the girls away, he saw Connie running off somewhere too, the dance continuing as if nothing happened.

But something did happen, and once he saw the teachers return, he sauntered off in the direction he saw Connie and Lydia run in. He just wanted to know if Lydia was okay, getting his answer when he neared the restrooms and heard crying.

“It was going so well and they had to go and ruin it,” were the words he made out, difficult in between sniffling and clear pain. “No, I’m not going back out there,” being said next in protest, “Just please take me home.”

He assumed Connie was in there with Lydia, comforting her as best as she could with sign he obviously couldn’t hear. He sighed out and moved from there, returning back to the gym which began to empty out. However, at the sight of him, a young boy came running up to him from the bleachers.

“Where’s Lydia?” He asked, frantic in his tone. Daryl saw this boy and Lydia all night together, enjoyment written on both of their faces. He must’ve been Henry. He wasn’t sure where the young man scampered off to before the incident, but now it was pretty clear that he missed all of it. “I saw you leave and I know she works for you, do you know where she is?”

“Go home, kid. Connie’s takin’ her home,” Daryl dismissed. He tried to help take down some of the streamers as people started to leave, ushered out by teachers. Was it midnight, already? But then Henry placed a hand to his chest to stop him from moving forward. Daryl looked down at Henry rather annoyed.

“I know, she texted me, but I wanna’ see her. My friends told me what happened and I wanna’ make sure she’s okay.” Distress formed itself on Henry’s face as he finished his explanation, but Daryl found himself to be angry for some reason. He couldn’t decipher why, but seeing Henry try to pry didn’t alleviate it.

“She’s not. If she didn’t tell you, maybe she don’t wanna’ see _you_.” He ground out, his facial expression daring Henry to try and stop him again. Henry dropped his head and hand and then nodded almost sadly, walking out with the rest of the dwindling crowd. He seemed to have cared a lot and wanted to rectify the damage done, but Daryl wasn’t about to give away Lydia’s location when he just heard her in tears. Not when he wasn’t even supposed to hear it himself.

Cleaning up with the others, they took their time to bring down decorations and toss a majority of them into the trash. The pictures were stored with a faculty member, disposables getting tossed the very same. Soon, the rest of the chaperones cleared out, one woman in particular giving his bicep a squeeze when she recognized that he was the last one standing there besides the DJ packing up. There still needed to be work done in terms of getting the gym pristine, but he assumed such would be taken care of the Monday everyone came in.

He hung around to wait for Connie, sitting down into the bleachers with his hands pressed together. Minutes passed after the DJ left when Connie appeared and walked straight to him, the lights continuing to strobe awkwardly in various colors. She sat down right next to him, but her motions were that of exhaustion, done slowly as she wrote something in her pad.

_I thought you’d still be here. Thank you._

“Didn’t wanna’ leave without sayin’ anythin’. Lydia alright?” The conversation most likely shifted when he left and took care of clean-up, Connie emerging when everyone was gone. He hoped she made some kind of breakthrough considering the length of her absence.

 _No, but she will be,_ displayed itself next, both of their attention turning to the DJ who picked up his bags. Now they were going to be left alone.

His thoughts circled around everything, unsure of why kids did what they did. He may not have heard what it was about, but he just felt that Lydia wasn’t at fault. A clear bias resonated there, but he didn’t care. Seeing her that distraught was not how he envisioned this night to go. He anticipated it the second he volunteered to help Connie, but now the night was over and he felt both overwhelmed and apathetic. The two of them sat in comfortable silence, the lights watched in their moments of reprieve. Though, he felt her shift from how close she was next to him, turning to look at her to see that she was flipping through previously written on pages. When she found one to her satisfaction, she smiled and presented it to him:

_Do you want to dance?_

It’s not what he expected to see from her damn near perfect writing. The fact that she had to have planned to ask struck him. As if she said it out loud, his breath caught in his throat, panic crashing over him in waves. He sat up a little straighter, studying her features for any sign of a bluff, but nothing came of it. Connie was being genuine, asking him because she actually wanted to. No one was around to see them, it would be just them under a mottled assortment of hues from above. Except, something kept him from jumping the gun and pulled him backwards by the collar. He felt nervous and yet he gradually shook his head and blew out an exhale.

“Ah… I don’t… I don’t dance.” Or know how to. He hoped she understood him with how he stuttered out a response, nerves currently collecting as she nodded and flipped through the pages again. Did she plan on him rejecting her offer, too?

_It’s okay._

Or not because that was a pretty generic thing to write down or use in everyday language.

“I, uh… I gotta’ get home. Be safe, alright?” He was concerned since she would not only be getting herself home at such a late hour, she would be ensuring that Lydia was at her house the very same.

When she gave him a sign she would, he stood up and made his way out, Lydia standing near the exit. She was probably waiting on Connie.

“I’ll see you at work Monday,” he awkwardly said, unable to bring up the events that night held. She seemed to be grateful, a small smile on her lips as she nodded her head. It was evident she wasn’t up for talking about it or talking in general so he went over to the door to leave, but then something was nagging him from earlier.

“Lydia, what does this mean?” From memory, Daryl started to tilt his palms up and down like Connie did in a seesaw motion.

“Means ‘maybe’.” She answered gently.

“Oh… thanks,” was the last thing he said before he left the building.

So, not only did Connie want to dance with him, she wanted to stay at his side throughout the night. She continued to amaze him, surprise him in a way that he hadn’t experienced before. He just tried to push her out of his head when he got home, tried to stop thinking about her dress, the hair she let down, and her heels giving her some extra height. He ignored how she brushed his arm, smiled almost every time he looked over at her, and the fleeting image of the two of them standing in the middle of the room dancing to no music playing. It’s not like she would’ve noticed it if the DJ was still set up, Daryl suddenly wondering if she knew how to keep rhythm with mere vibrations from around. He probably would’ve preferred it that way since the blasting music did quickly give him a headache after an hour of immersion. The real trouble would’ve come when he accidentally stepped on her feet and sent the both of them falling to the ground.

No… no… he wasn’t thinking about any of it. Certainly not how he should’ve said _yes,_ either, as he went to bed.

He got under the blankets and dozed off completely unaware that Lydia saw the whole thing.


	5. Expectations

The pen on the paper scribbled so relentlessly that the words would surely not be legible for anyone other than Connie. No one needed to read it fortunately, solely notes for her eyes only. That didn’t change her frantic pace, however, shifting her gaze between textbook, notebook, and a sandwich her sister set in front of her a couple of minutes ago. Her lesson planning was behind schedule, not up to the expectations she set for herself by any means. Zooming through it remained mandatory, rigorously pressing the ink down into the surface to where the desk bore new carved engravings. They added to the others she managed to plant there in previous flurries of attempting to get a week’s worth of work done in one sitting. She didn’t even care how she looked in Lydia’s eyes who sat in front of the desk merely watching in both astonishment and worry—astonished worry.

When Connie looked up through long lashes, she noticed the same expression reflected on her sister Kelly’s facial structure, a shake of her head displaying how she was disappointed. Not in the fact that Connie was behind on her own schedule, no, but because Kelly believed she always worked herself way too hard.

Connie disagreed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she signed, not putting her pen down to give her sister a stern deadpan. This seemed to merely amuse Kelly, a smile gracing her features as she lifted her hands.

“I came for your lunch time, not to watch you work,” Kelly signed and said at the same time. This became a habit early on for Kelly with her debilitating hearing. She probably also used vocalizations since Lydia was in the room and still learning further vocabulary.

Connie rolled her eyes, finally releasing the pen from her vise to reach for her untouched sandwich and take her very first bite from it. Immediately, her stomach vibrated out a grumble. She spent so long ignoring her hunger pains from skipping breakfast and dinner in a flurry of staying busy that she forgot how long she went without a proper meal. Her brain thanked her, and after she swallowed her bite down, so did her stomach in alleviating some of the stress there.

“There we go, lunch’s mission has been accomplished.” Kelly signed, dropping her hands out of the air to look at Lydia and say, “well, one of them anyway.” However, despite this statement being directed to the adolescent, Connie could read lips rather well. It came with a majority of people talking to her with the use of their mouths, which she didn’t mind, but she did find one alternative easier than the other. She took context clues and body language into account alongside how she watched others.

“What other mission do you have?” She asked cheekily when Kelly caught her eye once more. Her sister sheepishly scratched the back of her head at this, taking a step backwards to go lax in her stance. Except, tension hung high in her raised shoulders.

“Um… you know: the Halloween party? I asked you if you were going to bring anyone, but you told me you were too busy with the dance… the dance is over, Connie.” Kelly created slower motions this time. This wasn’t because she forgot any of the words in sign or anything, but because she was hesitating. Kelly knew exactly how Connie would start to act.

Weeks before the Homecoming dance, Kelly informed Connie of throwing together a Halloween bash where they could invite all of their friends and some colleagues from both their jobs. She needed a headcount in order to know how many supplies she would need. Being so enraptured with perfecting how the night would go for the high school, Connie brushed it off and told her sister she would not be able to discuss anything until some weight got taken off her plate. Kelly understood, though, she knew that Connie was using work as an excuse. She always did. Having a social life beyond lectures, assignments, and struggling to write novels was foriegn. She kept it that way for a reason, throwing herself into the brunt of hard work to avoid interactions with others. It’s not like she couldn’t do so, not harboring a real hint of shyness despite what others called her “disability.” She just found more meaning in being persistent on her writing dreams and connecting with students from all backgrounds. Socialization took too much time, time she could use either writing a story or being a part of a kid’s.

Nervously, Connie took another bite of her sandwich and feigned to be lost in thought. She  _ was _ actually lost in thought, but she wanted Kelly to think she was thinking about her plus one/the party and not of ways to try and get out of it. Although she loved her friends, she was currently on a journey where she couldn’t slow down. Not for anyone or anything… but just as she was going to fess up and go into lecture mode, Lydia in the room be damned, Lydia and Kelly’s heads turned towards the open doorway where Ryker Grice came strolling in. Great, just what she needed. He must’ve knocked on the door to gain their attention before making his grand entrance with his arms up in the air.

“Hey, everyone, I was walking by on my way to my classroom and heard the funniest thing… Did you by chance mention a Halloween party, Kelly? Because this is the first I hear of it! I would love to come!” He said, already attempting to invite himself to a place he had no business being in. He made a habit of showing up in the strangest places, the first time he went to Connie’s house being Kelly’s honest mistake.

Kelly came by to drop off a surprise birthday party invitation to one of Connie’s teacher friends, Eugene, when Ryker intercepted the message. It was the first time they met, Ryker promising to deliver the invite to Eugene, which he did do, but he also managed to come and be there, too. Connie smiled at them jumping from their hiding spots, but her eye twitched for a few seconds seeing Ryker come up from behind one of her lamps. From then on, her address was now in Ryker’s knowledge and she felt uncomfortable over it. She explained this discomfort to Kelly later on and her sister apologized profusely and even told her of the weird vibes she got from him.

Which is probably why she could see the cogs currently turning in her sister’s head to conjure up a response and not hurt his feelings.

“I already got a full house, sorry, man. I’m only doing an exception for whoever Connie’s plus one will be.”

Shit. Why did she have to say that? Connie glared at her sister as discreetly as possible, the panic in Kelly’s eyes indicating that she knew she fucked up as soon as the words left her mouth. She accidentally gave him a way in, and Ryker being ever the opportunist, he took it and ran with it past the finish line.

“Say less, I can clear up plans and be her plus one. It’s no biggie.” He retorted, Connie’s blood boiling as soon as she read his lips. Her grip on her sandwich even tightened with how angry she suddenly felt.

She was a reasonable person, calm and collected when situations came up, always carrying a level head until a task was completed, but no one could get under her skin like Ryker. He couldn’t “clear up plans” to chaperone for the dance like he originally promised, but he could go to a party hosted by one of her family members? Just to get closer to her?

It was how he phrased it that irked her soul, too. “It’s no biggie” coming out of his mouth as if he was doing them both a favor. Helping Kelly out in having more attendance to her get together while simultaneously helping Connie have a date. She had enough. She needed to tell him to get away from her instead of taking the high road and being more mature because of school. She couldn’t take his bullshit any longer, wondering why the hell she bothered for so long in the first place. She was never one to back down from calling out problematic behavior of people, much less of men she would never be intimidated by.

She placed her wrapped meal down to the desk to start signing and have Kelly be her translator, but again, she was cut off. This time, Kelly and Ryker’s heads whipped to see Lydia.

“What was that, dear?” Ryker asked, Connie waiting to read Lydia’s lips for whatever she missed. It seldom happened with how in tune she was with her surroundings, but her focus on work had been disrupted, shifting to the idea of a party, and then to the idea of kicking Ryker’s ass. She was a bit distracted.

“I said: she can’t go with you,” Lydia let out. Connie didn’t expect Lydia to come to her aid, but she should’ve guessed it with how blunt the girl could be. She probably sensed something was going to happen and stopped it from escalating. She was smart like that, Connie always admired her for it.

“And why not?” Ryker asked, his facial expression falling enough for Connie to surmise he didn’t like that she interjected on his plans to worm his way into the Halloween party. He always tried to keep up this smile around her, so when his lips slightly turned downwards, she knew something affected him.

“Because she’s going with Daryl.”

Connie’s jaw dropped for a split second when she saw Lydia’s lips create the formation of  _ that _ name. She recovered by closing her mouth immediately after, fortunate Ryker didn’t see her look of shock to dilute the integrity of whatever scheme Lydia was up to. She didn’t think she was going to pull a card like that, ready for a student to get sent to the office for blowing up on a teacher instead. Connie didn’t even know what to do, smiling anxiously when Ryker eventually glanced over at her with a puzzled appearance of his own.

“Daryl? Who’s Daryl?” Kelly said in bewilderment, clearly not getting the silent memo to just go ahead and play along. It caused Ryker to adorn a triumphant grin, a way for him to weasel his way back in by calling the bluff. And yet, Lydia beat him to it again.

“Daryl’s my boss, Connie and him are friends. They text all the time! She told me she was going to invite him to the party earlier.” Lydia lied. Connie was both impressed and sighing inwardly at Lydia’s ability to think so quickly and dishonestly. Considering Lydia’s mother… Connie couldn’t blame her skills being so good.

“Ohhh, okay! That’s great,” Ryker exclaimed, his grin still plastered on his features. Though, it seemed really forced.

“Yeah it is,” Kelly added, still completely unaware of the bluff. She was probably just happy she got her way in having Connie come to the party and with some mystery dude she hadn’t mentioned before. The shit eating grin on her face couldn’t hide the facts.

“I guess I’ll be on my way then, sorry to get in your hair,” he said with a wave. He walked to the door, but then turned enough for everyone to see him speak. “But Lydia did say  _ invite _ , as in, you haven’t yet. If he says no, which he probably will since he’s busy with his little… uh… car thing, I’ll be waiting.”

Damn it. They almost got off the hook, all three of them watching as Ryker left the classroom. And before Connie could explain to Kelly that Lydia was talking out of her ass, she looked down at her watch and then made a gesture with her head.

“I gotta’ go, too. Shift starts in half an hour. I’ll see you, love you,” she said and signed in a hurry, hugging Connie and waving bye to Lydia who seemed to have been smiling this whole time.

Connie stared at her, unsure how to feel about the turn of events. A lot of emotions spiraled throughout her in the time span of twenty minutes. She would’ve sat down if she wasn’t already sitting in her rolling chair. Connie eyed Lydia from across the desk, suspiciously trying to find some kind of tell in her. There was only this giddiness, some excitement in her from her bouncing leg and her ear to ear curving lips. Connie just couldn’t decipher why.

“What? You know what Ryker said, get to inviting Daryl, ‘cause you know… he’s waiting.” Right. He was the only one waiting. “Oh, damn, the bell! I’ll see you later!”

Lydia stood from the nearby desk and collected her garbage, backpack slung haphazardly over her shoulder. She double timed it over to the trash can to discard the waste and then zoomed out the doorway. Connie usually took Lydia’s word for when the bell went off since she could hear it, but looking at the time on her computer, Connie found something weird. For starters, the bell didn’t go off at 12:27. This made her come to another revelation, actually, deconstructing the lie she told her sister and Ryker...

She never told Lydia she was texting Daryl.

* * *

Staring at his phone screen, Daryl leaned against the car. He probably looked at his phone more than a hundred times in the past few hours. He couldn’t help it, he had a lot of trouble coming to terms with the content of the message. As his daily ritual, he texted Connie back as soon as he woke up. He went on with his day getting food and then hustling over to the shop where he got right to work. His head was under a hood when he heard his phone go off. That’s when he checked it, expecting to see Connie apologizing about answering so late because she was busy as she always did, but instead, a question was sitting right before him.

_ Do you want to go to a Halloween party with me? _

Hadn’t he done enough by chaperoning the dance? He went in and helped as best as he could and even sponsored the school, but now she wanted him to attend a party with her? Was she playing some kind of game or was she being genuine? Logically, of course she was being genuine. So far, she was always of pure character around him or through messaging. But a voice in his head was vying for his attention and trying to convince him otherwise. It didn’t make sense for him to complete a favor for a friend and suddenly they want you to go to an event together… did it? The last time Daryl really had a friend had been when he was around his brother, but that was more of a familial connection than anything else. When it came to blood, he felt obligated to stick to it because of his own loyalty. As he grew, he realized how wrong he had been.

Just because he knows what a friend  _ shouldn’t _ be doesn’t mean he knows what a friend  _ should _ be.

“Texting on the job?” caused Daryl to jump, immediately tucking the device away into his pocket as if he had been caught red-handed. Who knew why he decided to act that skittish when he owned the shop and Lydia most likely couldn’t see the contents of what was on his phone. And still, he grunted out a clearing of his throat as he got back to working on the car he was previously leaned against.

“Shut up,” he muttered while trying to hide the fact that he was currently torn with how to answer Connie back. He already opened and read her message so he was assuming that she would eventually forget about it and take it as a no. He found that route to be cowardly, however, so he was trying to find a way to muster up the courage to just outright say it and not overthink.

“I’m just saying, every time I’ve come in, you’ve been on that damn phone. You oughta’ stop… someone told me it rots your brain.” Lydia said, Daryl rolling his eyes when he realized that he was the someone she was referring to. But, a bit of panic infiltrated his system. Had he been on his phone that much since she got in? Was it noticeable? Did he have it written all over his features? Lifting one hand from under the hood, he flipped her the bird and then stood tall.

“I was just sparin’ ya’ since you don’t have much of a brain to begin with,” he growled back, the dramatic gasp he earned back having him roll his eyes yet again. Except he did it out of an ease of the tension he placed on himself, his shoulders finally dropping after having them raised so stiffly for so long. She was one of the few people who could draw a playful side of him.

“Whatever you say, Daryl, whatever you say,” Lydia replied, sitting on a nearby tool kit. She made herself comfortable there in the garage as her eyes scanned around. He was hoping for silence to fall between them in her rare decision not to choose a comeback, but that just wasn’t the case.

“So… who are you texting?” She asked coyly, Daryl’s gaze lifting up to her almost dangerously. She was trying it today, prying more than usual. Well, she never did interfere with anything personal of his. Chances barely arose, but she never pushed him or asked too many questions. Her behavior today was off.

“No one, I was reading up on some cars,” he smoothly responded. His eyes even fell back to the metal in front of him to show he was unaffected by her sudden detective work.

“Really? What did you read about?” She tried again, this time having Daryl freeze. He didn’t move, kept his head hidden away by a mountain of hair and the shadow of the car’s open hood.

“What does it matter, kid? Why’re you askin’ so many goddamn questions?” It was off-putting. It wasn’t like Lydia and he was suspecting that she was up to something, trying to catch him even though he wasn’t guilty of any crimes. At least… not any crimes in the past few years.

“I just wanna’ know cause I don’t think anyone pays that much attention to their phone unless they’re talking to someone. You’ve caught me doing it with Enid and Henry, so just spit it out! I won’t make fun of you or anything.”

He blinked at her declaration and tried to figure out where everything started to come from. It could very well be payback for the times he nudged her or lightly scolded her for being on her phone too much or how he poked fun at her grinning when Henry sent her messages, but it seemed deeper than that. She was determined to accomplish a goal, but he didn’t know what kind of goal was on her agenda. They were certainly closer than when Lydia first started working there, but could he unveil information like that to her so willingly when he spent a majority of his life closing himself off? So, again, the skeptic in him tried:

“What does it matter?” He repeated, but it was softer than the last time. He was hoping she could read in between the lines for it since he was trying to tell her in his tone that he wanted the truth, the real reason for her sudden meddling. They were joking around moments ago, so it should’ve resonated distinctly, a change in the atmosphere too crisp to ignore.

“Because I care.”

It’s not what he expected to hear. It was one of the first times he heard it with so much conviction and without toxicity behind it. It caused him to maneuver from the car and look at her to see if she was lying. She wasn’t even nervous, confident and ready as ever. It made him sigh out in defeat.

“S’Connie. She asked me to go to this party with her and I haven’t answered her back.” He couldn’t even lie. If he was being serious, he hated to do so. Telling someone felt like a bit of weight off his shoulders since he usually kept his turmoil locked away deep inside. It was a way to cope with it all, bury it until it came up later in hot flashes. All he needed to do was avoid the flashes.

“Seriously? You should totally go!” She beamed, lit up like a damn Christmas tree. He deduced that it was because Connie was her friend, too. Been her friend for way longer than he has.

“It ain’t that easy, Lydia.”

“What do you mean? Of course it is. Just gotta’ type back  _ yes. _ ”

Right, and brain surgery’s as easy as the game operation. A  _ pfft _ sound came off his lips and he walked to his toolbox, cleaning off the one in his hand with his rag as he placed it back into its space. He reached for a new one as Lydia followed him closely behind.

“Oh come on! She’s a lot of fun, when’s the last time you went out, huh?” She asked with a nudge to his side. His mind started to retrieve memories to say his case, but it had been a long time since he hung out with someone for entertainment. He used to find it in chasing his brother around and getting into shenanigans when he was younger, but now he could not think of a time where he went for social outings just because he wanted to, much less because someone else wanted him to, either.

“I don’t do parties, too much fuckin’ people. It ain’t nothin’ against Connie,” he retorted. He never did well in crowds. While he has never experienced someone genuinely wanting him in some kind of social event, he couldn’t handle the fact of having so many eyes on him when he didn’t blend in. It happened when he simply did grocery shopping and it happened even when he was chaperoning for the dance. It’s like people expected him to do something, to act aggressively or eat their first born child. That seemed like an extreme way to look at it, but he hated to be stared at like he didn’t belong. He already knew he didn’t, he didn’t need extra confirmation.

“Fine, I get it,” she said as she walked away from him and finally gave him some breathing room. Thinking he got her off his back about it, he strolled back to the car and went back to work as he murmured a “yeah.” Things were okay for a few seconds until Lydia continued her reply that Daryl thought was done: “Ryker’s a people person.”

He froze. “What?”

“Ryker. He’s a teacher at my high sch—”

“We’ve met,” Daryl interrupted. His annoyance was rising so suddenly that he wondered if his blood pressure was normal. He met a few people in a lifetime who could spark this kind of reaction, but it had been a while since he encountered such a person.

“You have? Guess it makes it easier. If Connie’s throwing a party or something and you’re not going, I’m positive she’ll ask Ryker instead.” Lydia said casually with a shrug of her shoulders. She took her place back sitting on the counter, her gaze dropping to her phone that she whipped out of her pocket.

How… How dare she just drop that bomb on him and then turn her attention elsewhere. It’s not even her fault, not knowing the kind of turmoil in his head at this moment as he stares at her in disbelief. Connie didn’t even like Ryker… at least, that’s what it seemed like at the game. She looked at him with such disgust and shame that Daryl surmised she held ill feelings. Could that have been a show for him? Was she making the same kind of faces to Ryker about Daryl? It was a silly way to look at it with how much he trusted Connie already, but it made no sense for her to go and ask someone to a party that was as narcissistic as Ryker unless her personality mirrored his. If Connie did or did not like Ryker, Daryl certainly did not. Not after what came out of his mouth, not after Daryl regretted not punching him directly in it.

“She can’t,” he blurted before he could stop himself. He didn’t know where it came from or how he let it out after minutes of silence, but he couldn’t refrain or catch it in time. So many things passed through his mind, held his awareness as his mouth went ahead and made a decision for him.

That did not seem to be expected by Lydia because she raised her head up from her phone and blinked at him in surprise.

“Why not?”

“‘Cause he’s an asshole,” he said again without second thought. He stood by his statement, not even caring if Lydia had something to disagree with. Instead, her face scrunched up as she nodded her head.

“I know,” she agreed, “but he’s usually who she hangs out with outside of school. I’m just saying what I think is going to happen.” Another shrug came from her shoulders, but she placed her phone back into her pocket as she watched Daryl fidget for a moment.

For all he knew, maybe Lydia was wrong. Maybe Connie wouldn’t ask Ryker to go and maybe she could find someone else to attend the party if she needed to… it’s just, Lydia knew Connie best out of the two of them and Daryl really believed her. Why would Lydia lie to him? Besides, going to a party wouldn’t be too bad would it? He would just have to make some small talk, probably eat, avoid getting a stupid Halloween costume, and then he would be in the clear. Anything to ensure that Connie wouldn’t go with some prick who was just trying to get in her good graces to sleep with her. One night of festivities wouldn’t kill him if it meant that he was helping her out just with his presence… oh, the deja vu. Wait, what if he ran into the same problem as he did when he was there in the school gym? What if she wanted to dance and he had to reject her all over again?

“Shit,” he muttered, audibly giving away how his thoughts currently held his brain hostage and threatened to shoot itself. 

“What’s wrong?” Lydia asked with concern in her tone, leaning on the counter as if to lean further into the conversation. He pressed his hands to either side of the car, head bowing so hair fell over his eyes and hid his face. Might as well rip the bandaid off since he did it before, let her in and talked of what was enduring throughout his head for the past few hours. He wasn’t about to let it marinate in there as he did a while ago.

“I can’t dance.”

Silence.

He was waiting for the laughter to come from Lydia, but nothing did. In fact, nothing at all. It was quiet. So quiet that he had to lift his head up and look at Lydia to see if there was any reaction on her features. Just when he sought to find amusement written in her facial structure, he found that her expression softened and her hands rested neatly in her lap.

“Do you want me to teach you?” came off of her lips, surprising Daryl for the upteenth time that day. She could’ve made fun of him or tried to console him in his embarrassing revelation, but instead, she chose to try and help him.

“I don’t think you need to know how, but if it means you’ll feel more secure, than sure… you say yes to Connie and we teach you in the meantime before the party,” she continued after he opted to remain silent.

It stunned him and he didn’t even know how that would go if he agreed to her sentiment. However, he did not have a chance to dispute and ask questions since the bell went off at the front, distracting him from this intense subject. (Intense for him, anyway) Daryl then used this opportunity to move from the garage and get into the hall up to the front desk. Lydia was right behind him, but soon stumbling over to get in front of him whenever she saw who was standing there. In seconds, Daryl hummed a growl low under his breath.

“Hi…” came Henry’s timid voice, Lydia eyeing him as a nervous smile came over her mouth. Daryl had to refrain greatly from rolling his eyes.

“Hi,” she answered right back, causing Daryl to audibly groan this time. Neither of the teenagers looked his way, entranced and absorbed in only each other as if they were the sole people in the room.

“Look, about Homecoming—”

“It’s fine, you didn’t know,” she said, cutting him off and trying to shake her head to dismiss his apology. Henry did not stop, though.

“No, seriously, I should’ve been with you. What they did, it wasn’t right. I’m not talking to any of them anymore and I went ahead to the principal about what they’ve been saying.”

Normally, Daryl didn’t care about teenage drama or what it could entail. It’s just, with the way Henry was talking, it sounded as if the instance at the dance wasn’t the only thing that was going on with Lydia. It sounded as if Lydia’s poor treatment was a consistent thing and that didn’t sit right with him at all.

“You didn’t have to,” she tried, but again, Henry went as far as moving closer to the desk.

“But I did. I care about you and… and you deserve more than some shitty high school drama,” he said. This caused Lydia’s smile to widen, no longer nervous and even relieved to hear him say that. That’s where Daryl decided to intervene.

“Okay, yeah, yeah, cool it love birds, you’re still on the job,” he pointed to Lydia, “and if you ain’t got car trouble, get out,” he said pointing at Henry.

Despite his dismissal, the two still kept their gazes on one another, Henry slowly walking away from the desk. He never once looked at Daryl.

“Bye,” Henry softly spoke, earning a just as soft “bye” from Lydia.

Oh boy, Daryl was gonna be sick. Just as Lydia started to go back into the garage, Daryl went for the door. He wanted to make it quick, not to raise any suspicions in Lydia as he whistled quickly to get Henry’s attention. He succeeded, the boy’s head shifting in Daryl’s direction with confusion on his face.

“If you hurt her,” Daryl warned, not bothering to finish off his sentence as he saw a tendril of something cross Henry’s face. He didn’t know if it was fear or hurt or maybe just astonishment, but it was enough for Daryl to back off and head back inside with a hint of satisfaction. He had no idea where that came from, but he needed to ensure that Lydia would be okay.


End file.
